Echoes I Mistook for love

Growing up, I mistook echoes for love— chasing feelings that only sounded real in the quiet of my own heart. I walked blindfolded, not because I couldn’t see, but because I chose the darkness over the truth in front of me. They say love is blind— but mine felt more like a mirror that only showed me what I wanted to become. So I shaped myself— softened my edges, polished my flaws, wore a crown that was never mine. I played prince in stories that were never written for me, waiting for an ending that only lives on screens. But reality doesn’t follow scripts. It breaks them. And every time I reached out, I came back with empty hands— not because love isn’t real, but because it wasn’t real there. Young love… a beautiful lie dressed in hope, laughing at me now the way I once believed in it. I see it clearer now— I wasn’t searching for love, I was searching for belonging in places that never had space for me. So I forced smiles, forced connections, forced myself into rooms where I was only ever temporary. And rejection— it didn’t just close doors, it taught me which ones were never mine to knock on. Not everything you see is meant to be held. Not every story is yours to live. You are not them. You were never meant to